Be Careful What You Wish For
by reader-writer15
Summary: Ever wonder what it would be like to travel into one of your favorite books? Or how you would feel meeting your favorite character? Longer fanfic since there was a complicated plot. Please comment if Draco's your favorite too!


_Don't think about it, don't think about it,_ I repeated incessantly. The tears I had cried just a few minutes ago were traced on my face. I didn't dare let any more tears do the same. But the emotion pressing against my chest was enough to make anyone cry.

I slammed my bedroom door, and my mirror hanging on the back of it reflected my image. Frizzy, brown hair, blue-green eyes, tear streaked cheeks. Comments like these shouldn't have bothered me anymore. But it was impossible to escape them. _Was I really that fat?_ I looked at my figure and hot tears welled in my eyes. I must have been, or people wouldn't have called me it at school. I couldn't hold the tears in and let them spill silently on my cheeks. It wasn't my fault that I was fat. I suffered from a certain degree of sleep apnea that caused my brain to send the wrong signals to my body, slowing my metabolism and causing me to gain weight. I had to use a mask to sleep, which should have helped me lose weight. My mom and dad even told me that I'd visibly thinned out. But apparently I hadn't, because kids at school were calling me fat as to where they thought I wouldn't be able to see them. But I am an observer, and I notice _everything._

 _If only they knew . . ._

I needed to get away from here. I needed to get out and go to a place where I could be alone, by myself, and think. But I didn't know where.

My hands were moving before my brain could process what they were doing. I was packing books into a satchel and taking my extra sandwich from lunch from my school pack and putting it into the satchel. I was going to the Thinking Tree.

The Thinking Tree was a large pine tree (they're my favorite) that I discovered in the woods near my house while taking a special route. I needed it to decompress after tough situations at school, and the Thinking Tree was the perfect. Ever since I was twelve, so . . . two years, I've been going to the Tree to read. Reading is the only thing that makes me feel welcome, the only place(s) where I can feel at home. While girls at my school spend their time and money on boyfriends and hangouts, I spend it on books. It was just the kind of person I was, and if no one wanted to accept that, then so be it. I had my own friends in paper and ink.

I took my satchel and swept out the door, my sneakers padding on the stairs.

Mom was cooking dinner in the kitchen, humming to low music playing on the radio. She craned her neck to see me coming down the stairs, occupied with a steaming pot.

"Where are you going, sweetie?" she asked.

"The Thinking Tree," I said, and snapped the door behind me. Mom understood that what I was feeling. She had gone through the same thing in her high school, she told me one time when I was in hysterical tears. But she said that you have to show them that you don't care what they thought, you needed to show them that they wouldn't get to you. It worked for my mom, but I wasn't like her. She had supportive friends in her high school, and she had the confidence to stand up to people. I did not have any of that. I wasn't strong-willed like her. I tried not to let them get to me, but they did eventually. It always happened like that.

I breathed in the fresh, familiar scent of the woods. My house was not far from the forest, only about three quarters of a mile away. The walk alone helped me think, and the reward of reading in a peaceful environment and being myself was really all I craved.

I approached the tree and a smile crept up upon my face. It was almost as tall as my house, with pinecones and a lucious green color, which was my favorite color. The base around the tree was littered with pine needles. I sat under the tree and leaned my head against the bough. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, listening to the white noise of the forest alive around me.

"Where would I be without you, Riley, old girl," I breathed to the tree.

I felt attached to the tree enough to name it. I picked one that I wished I had as my own: Riley. It sounded more normal than Jade, in my opinion. That's all I wanted, to be normal. I felt that by being normal, I would fit in with everyone. But that was just the way I was. I wasn't normal, nor would I ever be normal. Though I tried to teach myself to accept that, I just couldn't. In my first year of high school, where image was everything, it was hard to accept that I wasn't normal.

I cracked open a book without really looking at it, and opened it up.

But I couldn't focus, much less read the first word. Why was it _me_ that had to suffer? Why was it _me_ that had to endure all those mean comments, and be expected just to _not let it get to me._ Hadn't I suffered enough, dealing with sleep apnea?

I hugged my knees to my chest, the book practically in my face. The tears came and I let them fall, knowing that there was no one to see or criticize me here. Some teardrops splashed gently onto the first page of the book.

 _I wish I wasn't here. I wish I was someone else, in a different place. I wish I wasn't_ me.

The temperature in the forest dropped twenty degrees, and I looked up, startled by the change in climate.

That's when I saw a swirling cloud of raven black material and flutters of whitish, thin material. I gasped and stood up, leaning against the tree for support. But there was no tree. My hand grasped a handful of the black substance, staining my hands immediately. I inspected my hand, trying to ignore the thumping of my satchel hitting my thigh in the wind.

It smeared easily and smelled strange. Yet familiar too . . .

Ink.

Which meant that the flutters of white were —

Paper. Pages.

Where was I? What was going on?

Suddenly the ink melted away, bleeding into a white, glowing scene before me.

The wind stopped. Everything was still. I was surrounded by a white glow, as if in a room of sorts. There was a pulsing warmth emanating from the scene around me, comforting me. Telling me everything was going to be okay. The only place I knew that was able to make me feel that way was the Thinking Tree. . . what _was_ this place?

Suddenly a swirling figure appeared before me. And I almost fainted. Literally.

I knew those magenta robes and lengthy silver beard. I knew that knowing smile and glinting blue eyes. I knew those symbolic half-moon glasses.

That was it. I was dead. Or dreaming. It was the person that both scared and inspired me the most. It was —

"P—Professor Dumbledore?" I croaked. The name felt weird on my tongue, knowing that I was speaking to him right in front of me.

"Someone has been doing her research," he said, smiling brightly. "Oh, it seems that my presumptions were correct. You do not understand how relieving it is to see you."

"I think _I'm_ the one who's supposed to say that, sir," I said. "Is — is it really you? Is this a dream?"

"A dream of only one kind, my child," he soothed vaguely. "Tell me, how did you get here?"

"I — I'm not sure. I was under the Thinking Tree, and I started crying, and then when I stopped, I was here. I don't understand."

Dumbledore smiled warmly. "You made a wish. And it was granted. You are here, in the book that your tears touched."

Confused, I looked down to the book I was clutching. _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire._

"No." I looked at Dumbledore. "That's — that's _impossible,_ sir. I didn't — I thought — isn't it just . . . made up? I'm dreaming, that's it. There's no way I could have possibly traveled into my favorite book . . ."

"Alas, there is. The tree that you wished under was in possession of magic. In fact, I planted it there myself."

"Sir, please don't joke with me. You live in England, like, a ton of years ago. I live in present day America. There's no way that that . . . this, could have happened."

"Ah, but that's the beauty of it all," he said. "Mysteries. But I suspected that there was a time opening in the Continuum. And _you_ opened it." He smiled. "Welcome to —"

I held my hand up and shook my head, though it felt weird to interrupt Dumbledore. "No, sir, I'm sorry. I read all the Harry Potter books four times each, and I'm pretty sure you didn't know that they existed, or I would have read it. Because _you_ die, sir. And many people die. Harry almost did trying to defeat Lord Voldemort, along with Lupin, Tonks, Snape, Cedric, and Fred Weasley — whose death I'm _still_ not over." I caught my breath. "Professor, an _amazing_ author created your whole world in her mind, wrote stories about it, and gave it to the public. You all are fictional characters, and there's no way that I could have traveled to the Wizarding world because _you. Are. Not. Real._ "

I crossed my arms, wishing the heat would leave my cheeks. Dumbledore merely just smiled.

"Well, that's rather unfortunate," he said, blue eyes twinkling. There was an awkward pause.

"That's all?" I asked. "That's all you're going to say to me?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "Is there something else you would like to hear?"

I was at a loss for words. Here I was, standing face to face with the greatest wizard in the world, and I hadn't even stopped to accept the impossible. I wished for this, didn't I? Why not just go through with it? It was your dream to go to Hogwarts, wasn't it?

I sighed. "Am I able to go to Hogwarts at least?"

"Why, of course," he replied. "I have a feeling you would fit in just right."

"But — but I'm a Muggle, sir. I can't attend Hogwarts, much less get a wand and do magic and get sorted into house and stuff. _And_ I'm American, so I'd technically have to go to Ilvermorny."

"Yes, true as that may be, you wished yourself into _this_ story. You would become a literal part of _this_ story. Isn't that what you wanted?"

I nodded. Oh, yes. I wanted that very bad. "Then, sir, could you take me there? To Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Why, of course. Yet your Sorting as a . . . fourth year would make quite an entrance to the evening meal."

"Well, I've had lots of experience with being different. I think I'll be okay."

He nodded. "Then it is settled." He took out his wand (the Elder Wand, as I remembered) and pointed it at me. I closed my eyes.

A warmth of a spectacular force enveloped me, spreading throughout my veins, pumping my heart instead of blood. I felt enhanced, enchanted, empowered.

I was a witch.

A wand was looped through the loops in my jeans, and black robes covered my body. I opened my eyes and removed the wand. It was hard, durable, and very long.

"Phoenix feather and pine, my child," he said. "I assumed you would enjoy it."

I couldn't breathe. I would be able to do magic with this object. "Thank you, sir."

He nodded. "Now let us go find your school, shall we?"

He extended his elbow, waiting for me to take his arm. My eyes bulged. "Side-along Apparation?"

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "We cannot miss dinner. Let us go."

I took hold of the crook of his arm. The professor pivoted on his foot and I felt like I was being sucked into a place that was way too small for me. The breath was swiped from my lungs. Darkness was everywhere. It pushed against my chest, and I was glad that I was holding on to Dumbledore or else I would have been blown away or suffocated.

The feeling of solid ground underneath my feet allowed me to open my eyes.

And then I almost fainted.

We were at the castle front doors. I looked up and saw the Hogwarts castle. It was taller than the tallest T-Rex. The turrets were pointed and so high that they seemed to touch the clouds. Not even the Wizarding World of Harry Potter's castle was this tall and beautiful.

Dumbledore used his wand, muttering _Alohomora!,_ and the doors magically swung inward, allowing me to see in the inside of the castle.

The ceiling was so high that I wasn't sure I could see the top of it. The walls were crafted with intricate designs and lined with moving pictures. The people in the pictures whispered and pointed at us as we walked past, but Dumbledore carried on.

We approached the doors to Great Hall, my heart beating so fast that I was afraid to breathe. Here, I would see what the Great Hall really looked like. Here I would see all the other teachers as J.K. Rowling imagined them, not as the movie actors were portrayed. Dumbledore flung open the doors.

The hall was greater than anything I had ever seen. The ceiling was bewitched to look like the weather outside, which was a flurry of constellations and murky night. Four long tables were placed inside, each House sitting at their corresponding table. I saw secondary characters that I had recognized, like Cho Chang (she was prettier in the movie; how could Harry ever fall for her?), Neville Longbottom (he was clutching a Remembrall, and I smirked, knowing _everything_ about the thing), and Pansy Parkinson (who was gaping at me). Well, _everyone_ was gaping at me.

I would have liked to say that I walked in with Dumbledore and stared in awe that I was inside one of my favorite stories. I would have liked to say that I stood tall and proud as to make a good impression on the idols of my childhood.

Alas, you are reading about the experience of Jade Thompson, and "tall and proud" is not what she does.

I blushed profusely the entire time, as my heart climbed right in my throat. Thousands of eyes were on me, and they belonged to people that I thought I would never meet in _real life._ Dumbledore walked with me proudly, while I tried to cower behind him yet thought better of it. I was not going to make a fool out of myself. But one by one, I saw all of the characters that helped me deal with all the troubles in my life.

From the Gryffindor table, Fred and George whispered to each other, a mischievous gleam in their eyes and noticeable by their flaming red hair.

I felt like someone punched me in the gut. I was looking at a kid who didn't know that he was going to die. He was going to fight proudly in the Battle of Hogwarts, yet sacrifice himself to save Harry's cause.

I averted my eyes quickly and saw Cedric Diggory gaping at me, and . . . _wow._ Another punch in the gut, and it wasn't because he was seriously good looking. He was going to be dead by the end of this book. He was going to die by the hands of Lord Voldemort —

My mind went blank. Voldemort. He was going to come back . . . Harry was going to battle him and Voldemort was going to use his blood and . . . Cedric was going to die on the spot . . . Harry's name was going to be in the Goblet of Fire . . . the Triwizard Tournament . . . all the other European schools . . .

What on earth had I gotten myself into?

Not only was it horrible that I was forced to look at all the faces who would soon enough be lifeless, but I had to pick the book where Voldemort returned! I was so stupid, so stupid indeed. I could have picked any book, _any other one,_ and I just _had_ to pick this one.

Then something hit me like a tidal wave. My appearance here was not written in the story. Was the story still active? Was I able to . . . _change_ the story? I didn't want to do that. No, I could change the story for the worse. Knowing me, clumsy, absent-minded Jade, I was probably going to ruin the story and get a bunch of people killed.

I had to get out of here _now._

But Dumbledore and I had arrived at the very front of the Great Hall where _everyone_ could see us. I began to sweat, and my hands were shaking.

This was a mistake. All of it. I didn't know what I was going to get myself into. I wanted to go home. What happened at Hogwarts should stay at Hogwarts. And that meant that I shouldn't be here.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him.

"I am very sorry to interrupt the evening meal, but I have an important announcement to make.

"This girl, Jade Thompson, was found . . . wandering, I should say . . . around London. She is a witch who never received her Hogwarts letter, for she moved here from America just last year, when she was thirteen. Some wizards and witches hiding in a lovely suburban community found her and brought her to me. We welcome her with open hearts."

I heard whispering from the Slytherin table, and saw Pansy Parkinson whispering to her friends, who erupted in silent snickers. However, there was one particular Slytherin who wasn't laughing.

Draco Malfoy.

A confusing wave of emotion settled over me. I felt the anger toward him for being mean to Harry and his friends, yet pity, for he was forced to be a Death Eater or be killed. He was trapped, and his father expected so much from him . . . it wasn't fair. At the end of the Harry Potter series, I had felt sorry for Draco and decided that he was one of my favorite characters. But seeing him in person . . . it gave me mixed feelings.

I looked over at the Gryffindor table, and was able to point out almost all of the people there. Fred and George, of course (I shuddered), Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, Ginny Weasley, Colin Creevey, Dean Thomas, Lee Jordan, Neville Longbottom, Oliver Wood, Hermione Granger (she's prettier than Emma Watson), Ron Weasley (my heart fluttered a little) and of course —

Harry Potter.

I didn't want to have anything to do with him.

Only because I knew _waaaaayyy_ too much about him. Heck, seven books were written about his adventures, in his point of view. I knew everything that he went through, and everything that he was _going_ to go through. It was creepy watching him (though undoubtly pleasing since the guy was freaking _hot_ ) and I made sure to avert my eyes as quickly as possible.

Suddenly, I heard a clacking of heels, and Professor McGonagall walked toward me, wearing one of the most confused and angry expressions I had ever seen. She had less wrinkles than Maggie Smith, but her eyes were just as severe and demanding. She conjured a stool by my feet and looked at me as if I were a troubled kid.

Oh, right. I was.

Dumbledore had lied to me, and I was thankful for that. It would have been really messy if he told the truth, and probably would have started some kind of riot or something. But because of that, I felt that everyone was looking at me with intimidation. They thought I was one of those steely kids on the streets that knew no love and could survive pretty much anything (as judged from the looks and glares from the students). But I was the total opposite of that. I was soft and a pushover. I couldn't play sports and had no special talents as far as I knew, apart from reading which isn't really a talent because almost everyone can do that. So much for a good impression.

Suddenly, something clothy and cone shaped plopped on my head, covering my eyes. Everything was dark.

" _Ooh, this should be interesting,"_ said the Sorting Hat.

" _Please just get this over with,"_ I pleaded. " _I'm not going to be here much longer. I need to get back home."_

" _Hmmmm. . ."_ it thought. " _Any preferences? It's hard to read, since you're not really a witch . . ."_

" _I know I'm not. Just . . . pick anything. I need to get out of here. I have to find a way . . ."_

" _Alright-y then, Miss Thompson. It'll have to be_ —"

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted.

The Slytherin table wasn't sure if they should clap or not, but they managed some sort of applause. Everyone else did not look shocked, and I didn't blame them. Honestly, after the story Dumbledore told, Slytherin wouldn't surprise me either. But that meant I'd have to room with . . .

"Pansy Parkinson," said Pansy Parkinson, outstretching her hand as I sat at the table. "Nice to meet you."

I looked up and felt my cheeks heat up. Do I take her hand? She was kind of rotten . . .

"Jade Thompson," I said, taking her hand. "Thanks."

The Great Hall went back to buzzing as students conversed with each other. I kept my head down and closed my eyes. I wanted to be invisible. I wanted to be back home under my Thinking Tree, reading a book that I could just get lost in. But no, that's not what the Sorting Hat wanted. Maybe I should have picked Gryffindor. At least I'd be with Hermione. She was my favorite character. And Ron . . .

 _Stop,_ I told myself. _Don't do anything stupid. Don't get involved in anything. You will ruin the story and relationships if you get involved._

I took a deep breath. I wasn't hungry, but I took my PB&J sandwich out of my satchel, knowing that I should at least eat it to remind me of home. Pansy and a bunch of girls I didn't know gaped at me.

"What are you eating?" they shrieked.

"Oh, um . . ." I swallowed, reminding myself not to do anything stupid. "It's my sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly." I looked at their confused expressions. "It's — American."

"Ohhh," they said at once.

"So what's it like living off the streets?" asked one girl with straight, glossy black hair.

"It's, um . . . tough, I'd say." _Build yourself up!_ "Yeah, it's real tough. You have to scrounge for food and find a different shelter every night. You don't know much magic, and you can't do magic outside of Hogwarts so it's hard to protect yourself."

"What do you need to be protected from?" asked another girl next to Pansy, who had dyed blond hair.

"Oh, you know . . ." _Think, you fool! Think!_ I gulped. "Dementors."

All the surrounding girls gasped. Heads turned from across the Slytherin table. Even Draco's. I averted my eyes. Don't cry. Don't cry.

"Yep, dementors. You can't cast a Patronus, because of the Trace and the Ministry of Magic rules, so you have to do your best to escape."

"You can't escape a dementor without a Patronus," remarked Pansy. "How'd _you_ do it?"

I gulped. This was precisely the reason why I didn't lie. "I — I don't want to talk about it."

"You're lying, aren't you?" said one Slytherin girl with caramel hair.

"Yeah, how're you supposed to defeat a dementor without a Patronus?" said another.

"What a liar!" whispered one to Pansy, though audible.

Blush crept up to my cheeks. I was glad my hair was bushy so that I could hide under it. But I really needed to be alone. I got up from the bench, swinging my satchel over my shoulder, and headed to the Slytherin dorms.

I knew where they were, only because I read about Harry using Polyjuice Potion to look like Goyle and sneaking into the dungeons. I followed down the staircase, silent tears streaming down my face.

I stopped. There was one person I could talk to.

I sped off in the direction of the abandoned girls bathroom.

The door creaked open and I slipped inside. It was bigger than I thought, with a couple of abandoned stalls and dirty floors. I knew that one of the sinks in this very bathroom could open up the Chamber of Secrets. I shuddered. I wasn't sure how long I could last in this place. Too many haunts.

I sat against a wall and took a deep breath, wiping my face of tears. All those faces . . . Draco's, Fred's, Cedric's, even Dumbledore's. I couldn't look at them straight, knowing that their lives would soon be over, and they didn't even know (except for Dumbledore, which only made me more depressed).

Suddenly I heard a moaning sound, hollow and echoey, come from one of the stalls. A transparent girl of perhaps my age hovered in front of me. She wore her brown hair in two ponytails, dressed in Ravenclaw robes, glasses, and a sneer.

"Look who it is," she smirked.

"I'm not in the mood for it, Myrtle," I said without looking up. "I've had probably the worst day imaginable."

"I thought traveling into your favorite book was your dream?"

"Not anymore. I can't stand looking at . . . them."

There was silence. I had a feeling that Moaning Myrtle understood what I meant, though there were quite a few _thems_ I wanted to avoid looking at.

"Thanks for calling me Myrtle," she said quietly.

I looked at her. "No problem. And I'm sorry that you got killed by a basilisk and was made fun of for your glasses. No one should deserve that."

"What— how did you—?"

"I read, Myrtle. And I thinks that's the problem."

"What do you mean?"

I told her about all the trouble I'd been having at school, and about all the problems that I could find from being in a story I wasn't written in. Myrtle listened intently, and I really appreciated having a friend to talk to, even if she was dead.

"I'm sorry about all that," she said finally.

I sniffled. "How did you cope with it?"

"Oh, it wasn't easy. And I'd hardly call it _coping_ if you just came crying in the bathroom and did nothing to stand up to them."

"So you think I should stand up to them?"

Myrtle shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'm dead, mind you. It's probably not wise to listen to me."

"Well you're the only person who's listened to anything I have to say, so I'll take your word for anything."

Myrtle thought for a moment. "I don't really have much advice to give you. But I think that you were put in Slytherin for a reason."

"What reason would that be? To help me learn how to get picked on? Cause that I can learn at my Muggle school."

"No, no, no," she said. "I mean, you were put in Slytherin for a reason that would benefit you. Though I'm not sure how I know that . . ." she trailed off, looking into the distance.

I rose. "Thanks, Myrtle. I — I gotta go."

"Goodbye, Jade. Promise me you'll visit?"

"Oh, I think I'll be in here a lot. You're a good friend, Myrtle."

If ghosts could blush, she'd be bright red. "Thanks. Now get some sleep."

I exited the bathroom and made my way down to the dungeons. I could hear the slight buzz of students above me, meaning that dinner must have just let out. I hurried to the concealed entrance (password was _Pureblood_ ) and went through.

The Slytherin common room was dark and lit with greenish light from the bulbs above. However, the windows gave a clear view of a swirling turquoise murk, most definitely the lake. It looked like a mysterious, underwater shipwreck. Tables and comfy chairs were placed near an inactive fireplace, which was just below an intricate carving of the Slytherin crest on the mantle. There were a few candles on a small table in the center of the chairs, and they were melted and dripping with dry wax.

Though the gloominess represented my attitude, I found the place comforting and cozy.

I managed to find my way to the girls' dormitories, which were just as gloomy as the common room. There were many four-poster beds carved out of black looking wood, and complete with forest green sheets and black comforters. While trying to climb into my bed, my toe caught something on the floor.

It was a trunk, and English suitcase but bigger. I remembered that I didn't bring any robes or pajamas or school supplies, but as I opened the trunk, I saw that everything neatly packed inside. There was a note on top of a folded Slytherin robe.

 _Miss Thompson,_

 _Here is everything you should need for your attendance at Hogwarts. Also, please meet me in my office tomorrow before dinner (I assume you know how to get there). I hope Hogwarts is satisfying to your needs._

 _With sincerity,_

 _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

 _Headmaster_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _Also, I am particularly fond Chocolate Frogs_

I put the note back and examined the trunk's contents. There were four sets of robes, pajamas, and piles of textbooks and other school supplies. I changed into a green nightgown and climbed into bed. My stomach was rumbling loudly, as I hadn't eaten a proper dinner. But I ignored it. So much had happened today. How could I have been so stupid? I didn't directly wish to go to Hogwarts, but apparently tears were a powerful thing. Something strange happened when I cried on my book. Why couldn't I have looked at the cover before crying on it? Why—

Suddenly the dorm door opened and Slytherin girls filed in, talking loudly. I shut my eyes, buried, almost invisible, underneath the covers. Pansy was talking to her friends.

"Her story is such _rubbish,_ isn't it?" she scorned. Other girls mumbled in agreement. "I think she's not a witch at all."

"Then how'd she get into Hogwarts?" asked another, most likely the girl with dyed hair.

"Dumbledore, obviously," said Pansy. "He always picks favorites."

One girl sighed in exasperation. "If we're going to get a new transfer, at least make her _pretty._ Maybe I should believe her story; she certainly looks like she's been living off the streets."

I winced underneath my covers. That one was rough. The girl just talking gasped and whispered to her friends, "She's already in here?! How'd she even know where the Slytherin common room is?"

"She's strange," said Pansy, climbing into bed. The other girls nodded, getting into theirs too.

Everything was quiet, and I tried not to make a sound as hot, silent tears slipped down my cheeks.

I wanted to escape the real world to get away from that kind of stuff, but it seemed that I had traveled right back into my problem. It didn't matter where I was. Those insults never left.

* * *

The next morning I woke up to an empty common room. Rubbing my eyes, I thought groggily, _what day is it?_

Then it occurred to me that it was Saturday.

And also my birthday.

To be honest, it never really crossed my mind. Yeah, I know, you're getting older and maturing and blah, blah, blah. But birthdays weren't something I really looked forward to. You get cake, maybe a present or two, but then it's over and you're stuck being that age for another whole year. Well today marked the beginning of my whole year of being fifteen.

I laid back down in my bed. Do I get out? Do I address the day? Do I meet new people?

No. Socializing will only make things worse. Though it's totally lame that the school is full of my lifetime heroes, I can't ruin the story.

All I had to do was make it to the meeting with Dumbledore. I could talk to him and make him send me back. That would solve everything. _Just make it to dinnertime and this mess will be all over._ And I would have to start by feeding my grumbling stomach.

I dressed reluctantly and groomed myself, trying to look my best. Though I wasn't sure that I wanted to see anyone, I wanted to make a good impression on whoever I met. Maybe I could gain a friend . . .

 _Stop,_ I thought. I would _not_ be making any friends here except for Myrtle, but I didn't think she counted because she was dead. Just get through the day and this mess would be over.

I grabbed my satchel and walked slowly out the door, my heart pounding, thinking of who I would meet . . .

The common room was empty. Not a single soul in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief. But my luck would not be this good. I would have to learn how to talk to people or else I wouldn't survive.

I scrambled to the Hall, buzzing with students as usual. There was an empty space at the end of the Slytherin table, and I took it without a second thought. Some Slytherins looked at me but I didn't pay any attention to them. I served myself toast and did the only thing that would keep me from talking to people.

Read.

I cracked open a book from my satchel called _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes._ One of the best books of all time. Holmes was also one of my role models, because I wanted to be clever and keen and smart like him. I wanted to be able to philosophize like him and look at once piece of evidence and already know the crime committed. So it wasn't before long that I abandoned my toast so I could concentrate on the book. As thick as it was, by the end of breakfast, I was almost halfway done with it.

The Slytherin table was extremely loud, and I only noticed why when I looked up from my book. About half the Slytherins were dressed in their Quidditch uniforms, forest green and silver. They didn't look nervous at all and taunted the Gryffindor table. I rolled my eyes and packed up my book. I didn't want to be a part of this.

Yet as I was just going out the door, I turned my head. Quidditch . . . how many times had I dreamt that I could play? How many times had I dreamt that I was the star Seeker, getting all the fame? Playing for a different team, of course, but all the same. I decided to go.

The Quidditch pitch was the biggest thing I had ever seen. The goals stretched unbelievably high, while the stands stretched with it. Players in red and gold were flying on their broomsticks like birds in the air, throwing balls and practicing maneuvers without a care in the world. I remembered that I hadn't taken flying lessons yet, if we're going to be technical, so I wouldn't be able to tryout for the team. And anyway, tryouts were most likely over at this point. And if I was really planning on leaving tonight, I wouldn't even get a chance to ride a broom . . .

I was in the stands before I could even process what I was doing. I couldn't help but marvel that they flew with such precision and confidence, two things that I didn't have. I watched them fly, not even caring which team they were on. It was the most wonderful thing.

I found a piece of paper and a pencil in my satchel and used a book as my clipboard. I needed to capture this moment, even if I wasn't a good drawer.

I began with a sketch of the pitch as a whole, taking my time to make sure every detail was precise. Then I began to sketch the broomsticks themselves, making sure to capture their amazing speed with comic lines. I did a few more little drawings, and turned the paper over to begin my larger drawing.

I was going to draw the match from my perspective. Yes, I knew that it was going to be tough, but I didn't have a camera on me and I felt that drawing was actually kind of relaxing.

The match began with Madam Hooch's whistle. Players zoomed through the air, the wind whipping their hair. They were so high up that I knew my fear of heights could never cope with that.

I took special note of the two Seekers Harry and Draco, deciding that I would try and draw them when they made a fleeting divebomb. That would be the peek of the match, for sure.

Lee Jordan over the intercom, I watched with wondrous eyes the players zoom around on their broomsticks. It was single handedly the most amazing thing I had ever seen. I knew Muggles had created their own version of Quidditch that they played on ground, but it always bugged me that I couldn't see what it was really like. That is, until I came here.

Harry, in his red and gold uniform, made a sharp jerk downward and zoomed faster than a Mustang to something glinting in the sunlight. A Snitch. The thing was about the size of a golf ball with little angel wings and a shiny, glassy texture. I quickly sketched it based on memory, and drew a figure, hand outstretched, flying down to catch it.

Which was exactly what Harry did.

The Gryffindor stadium went wild. Banners waved in their air. Shouts echoed throughout the pitch. Everyone was on their feet, whether the Gryffindors cheering or the Slytherins booing. I didn't care who won the match, however. It was the greatest thing for me to see a live Quidditch match.

I hummed to myself Imagine Dragons as I outlined the shape of Harry's body as he stretched for the Snitch. It was strange to me how I could remember everything in such detail, but I'd known all my life that I was a quiet observer. I didn't speak, but I saw _all._ I notice the tiniest things that most people would look over, which, come to think of it, was a great deal of help to drawing. Being able to identify details like shadows and features could be beneficial when drawing.

I sketched some more, even though th Quidditch pitch was slowly emptying. I wasn't too keen on going back to the common room, because there would be some fairly angry Slytherins in there. It was best to stay out of there until lunch, possibly. Or even dinner.

I seemed to lose track of time as I looked down at my paper and shaded with my pencil. It was peaceful and tranquil, almost reminding me of being under the Thinking Tree . . .

Suddenly a figure came walking in my direction, and I recognized the Slytherin green. I gulped, knowing it was Pansy and her friends. Their words from last night stung, causing my cheeks to redden. They always did when I started to cry. But I held in the tears, ready to stand up for myself like Myrtle told me . . .

"Hey," said a voice that was unmistakably _not_ Pansy's. Or a girl's, for that matter.

I looked up from my drawing and right into swirling grey eyes and blond hair. _Draco?_

"You're pretty good at drawing," he said.

Still confused and frightened by those grey eyes, I said something real intelligent like, "Um . . ."

He smelled of wind and his hair was messed up in a way that still looked cool. He had a placid expression on his face and his lips stretched into a heart throbbing smile. I bet ten galleons that J.K. Rowling wouldn't have written him like this.

Draco outstretched his hand to shake. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

I shook it warily, hoping he didn't notice my hands shaking. This guy up close . . . wow . . .

"J—Jade Thompson," I managed, internally cursing myself for never being able to speak a single sentence without stuttering. "And um, thanks. Uh, about the drawing . . ."

And just like that, my stomach was all over the place and my heart was in my throat. And not for the reason that you'd think. Draco Malfoy had been one of those characters that you hated for four books straight and then realize why he'd done all the things that he did and start to like him. Then by the last book, you realize how much pain the guy was in and instantly became your favorite character. That's what happened to me, at least. And being up close, face to face with the guy, it was both depressing and amazing. His eyes were a stony grey, but they seemed warmer than described in the books. They were . . . cloudy. Yes, that was the word. Webbed with layers and layers of emotion and disturbingly melancholy. It made you shake just meeting the person who could have killed Dumbledore but didn't at the last second.

Something weird triggered inside of me at that moment and I began to feel queasy. Without a word and shouldered my satchel, raced down the stairs, and ran all the way to the castle, not looking back.

Draco Malfoy gave me the creeps. And knowing the ending of him, and what he was going to go through, being a Death Eater and all, it was scary.

Back at the girls dorms, I couldn't concentrate on Sherlock. My encounter with Draco played over and over in my head. I left the poor guy feeling confused all alone there, without an explanation. How stupid I was! He didn't know his fate yet. He couldn't control it at that moment.

I needed to apologize, that's what I had to do. I had to tell him —

What would I tell him? I couldn't tell him the truth, that was for sure. With me being in this story and messing everything up, I wasn't sure if I could trust him, which was the worst thing I had ever thought. Of course I could trust him. I knew everything about him! I shuddered. That's why I didn't really want to get close to these people. I knew so much about them that it was scary being able to predict their next move. And no, I wasn't a Divination teacher.

So what should I tell Draco?

Not the _whole_ truth. Just . . . some of it. Yes, it was time that I started living up to that Slytherin name. I was going to be cunning.

I hid around the corner of the common room, seeing it filled with both boys and girls talking. I spotted Draco in a central armchair, talking with a moony-eyes Pansy Parkinson. I rolled my eyes. What an idiot! He wasn't going to fall for her. I knew that for a fact.

I took a deep breath and exhaled. Just do it. Just do it.

 _So many people . . . what if I embarrass myself . . ._

I whipped around the corner with much more force than normal, trying to be confident. Meanwhile, I almost fell over and everyone's eyes were on me. The common room went silent. I started to blush. I was _not_ going to cry.

I walked over to where Draco was sitting. Pansy looked stupefied, gaping at me with hateful eyes. I ignored them and sat on the edge of a chair nearest to Draco. I cleared my throat.

"Um, I'm sorry about . . . back at the Quidditch pitch," I said, trying not to mumble. Was it me or were Draco's eyes twinkling? "The thing is, I'm kind of . . . awkward talking with people. Um, it's called social anxiety. It's not your fault. I just . . . f — find it hard speaking directly."

 _Well, good job, Jade,_ I scrutinized. _You just blew your chance with meeting a living, civilized person. Why did you come out at all? Why didn't you_ —

Draco smiled. "It's okay. I understand."

It took me by shock. He . . . _understands?_

I tried my best to smile. "W — would you like to try that . . . whole thing again?"

He nodded. "Hi, I'm Draco Malfoy and I think you draw pretty great." He gave out his hand to me and I shook it, my own hands shaking a little less than normal.

"Thank you, Draco," I said. "I'm Jade Thompson, and I think you did a great job on that pitch, even if you didn't win."

"Why, thank you, Jade."

For once in my life, I didn't screw something up. My legs began to feel like jelly and I realized that everyone was still staring at me. Pansy was outraged, which made me feel a little better. "Um, w— well I have to go finish reading . . ."

Then I scampered out the door as fast as I could and collapsed in my bed. That was the most horrible then ever. I could feel my chest hurting. An anxiety attack was coming for sure.

I was breathing heavily. _In, out. In, out. In, out._ I tried to keep my breathing synchronized as I lay down to ease my chest pain. I could still feel all those eyes on me. . . and talking one on one with a live person . . . _just breathe. Just breathe. Everything is okay._

Stupid social anxiety. I wasn't lying when I told Draco that. I really did have it. But admitting to it was harder than coping with it sometimes.

I heard talking back in the common room and my name was mentioned a few times. I peeked around the corner to see all the people in the common room talking to Draco.

"She's so weird!" exclaimed one.

"Yeah, I saw her reading a Muggle book one time," said another.

"Probably a Mudblood," smirked Pansy.

Draco stood up, and I could have sworn that his cheeks colored. "Just give her a chance, all right? You don't even know her. Don't judge her."

He swept out of the room, leaving everyone else looking bewildered.

Draco Malfoy stood up for me? Why would he do that?

* * *

Lunch arrived and I crept quietly, trying to be invisible. I wasn't comfortable around the Slytherins, which was confusing to me as to why I was sorted there. I always had considered myself a Ravenclaw. I loved reading and studying, just doing quiet things. I even liked drawing. I couldn't be cunning, I was too clumsy. Cleverness, possibly, but I didn't pride myself on it. So why was I here?

I opened Sherlock Holmes and silently nibbled on a salad. The chatter of students around me was like a soothing, white noise that helped me concentrate. Though I preferred quiet spaces, I was grateful that everyone's attention was not on me, so I could read in peace.

However, when lunch was mostly done, I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I met a pair of slate grey eyes, sparkling like stars. Why was Draco here?

"H—hi," I said.

"Hi," he replied. "If you're done, would you like to come to the Quidditch pitch with me? My friends and I were going to have a few rounds on our brooms. I thought you'd like to learn how to ride one."

"Y—yeah, okay," I said. I got up and stood next to him. He smelled faintly like pine. We headed out the doors, as some of Draco's buddies followed us.

 _This didn't happen in the book, you idiot! Stop, you'll ruin it!_ I hesitated for a moment when we got to the pitch, and Draco turned around.

"You don't have to be nervous," he said in a tone so gentle that I couldn't believe it belonged to him. "It's easy."

I nodded, though that wasn't the reason I was nervous. My being here was a hindrance to the story. I really shouldn't have been there. But I was partially eager to learn how to ride a broom. It wasn't something you got to do every day, and if I was staying here, I might as well make the best of it.

Draco brought me to the pitch, where his broomstick was laying. I peered at it, remembering.

"It's a Nimbus Two-Thousand and One," I recited with awe.

"Well someone knows her brooms," he said. "Here, you can hold it."

He gave me the broom. The handle was polished to perfection, and thicker than a house broom. The twigs at the bottom were neatly plucked and straightened, and the golden footholds gleamed in the sun. "Wow," I muttered.

Draco showed me how to say _UP_ to levitate the broom. I got it on the first try, and it was obvious that he was impressed. I glimpsed all his friends glaring at us, but I blocked them. It wasn't every day you got Quidditch lessons from Draco Malfoy himself.

It wasn't before long when I hopped on the broom out of curiosity and zoomed into the air at maximum. I heard Draco gasp, as his green figure got smaller and smaller. Being so high, I was afraid of being afraid, but I realized that it was beautiful up there. I tightened my grip on the handle and took the risky decision of going full Harry Potter mode.

From reading about all Harry's experiences playing Quidditch, I used that information to help guide me. It was still a new process, but I thought I got the basics down alright. I practiced making sharp turns, staying on course, and even attempting a divebomb for an imaginary Snitch. I even totally forgot that there were people watching me, and completely lost myself in the fresh air.

I zoomed down to the ground and halted the broom, jumping off. I patted off my robes, which were a little dusty, and straightened my hair. I looked back to Draco and his buddies—

They were all gaping at me with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. I immediately went a violent shade of red. "Um, I—I'm sorry . . . I—"

"Sorry?" exclaimed Draco. "That — that was totally amazing! Are you sure you've never been on a broom?"

"Um, yeah . . . I'm sure," I stuttered.

"We — we got to get you on the team! You'd make a better Seeker than m—"

"Wait," I said. "Um, I —" I thought for a minute. I wasn't going to be staying her much longer, for my meeting with Dumbledore was tonight. He would be sending me back home. I couldn't get involved in all these activities, befriending Draco, playing Quidditch . . . no, I had to get home. "I — I can't play . . . I —"

I tried to take a step towards them, but my ankle gave a sickening crack, and I collapsed to the ground. I must have landed harder than I thought when getting off the broom.

I gasped in pain, as sharp needles struck my ankle and coursed throughout my leg.

Draco came over and took a look at my ankle, which was already swelling up. "I think you broke your ankle," he said.

I bit back tears. "I'm fine," I said, trying to stand up. That was a horrible idea, for it caused even more pain.

"No, you're not," he said. "Come on, we have to get you to Madam Pomfrey." He helped me stand up, and I put all my weight onto him as we limped together to the nurse. It felt strange, yet comforting having his arm around me, but I didn't say anything. I held in my tears and pain as we slowly approached the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey, a busty woman in a nun's whipple, helped me get to a bed, screeched about Quidditch and dangerous sports and whatnot. Getting my leg onto the bed was tough, but I didn't make a sound. Draco stood by.

"Will she be okay?" he asked.

 _Since when was Draco this caring?_ I thought to myself as Madam Pomfrey bustled at her table.

"Oh, she will be fine," she said. "But by the looks of it, her ankle was broken in . . ." Madam Pomfrey peered at my leg— "three places. I'm afraid that that may be a bit too much to handle with my wand alone. She will have to take a potion to put her to sleep while I mend the bone."

I knew to trust Madam Pomfrey's judgement, so I looked over at a horrified Draco. "I'll be fine. Um . . . thanks. For — for helping me."

He looked over and mustered a smile. "Uh, no problem. I'll just . . . go, then."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Thank you, Draco."

He left briskly, though I could have sworn he looked back another time. The door slammed shut and the nurse came over to me with a tray holding a vial of blue liquid. "Please drink all of this. You won't feel a thing."

I nodded. "Thanks."

The potion tasted like blueberry muffins and lemonade, which was comforting to me. My eyelids drooped on the spot, and the world spiraled into darkness.

I had a strange dream involving a small white ferret. It was really cute, so I decided to pick it up. The ferret was strangely nice to me, though it seemed tense. When I tried to pet it, it bit my hand, soaking me in blood. Then there were pitch black thunderclouds that appeared out of nowhere, and started raining gold. I looked closer and realized they were galleons. I tried to pick one up, but they all disappeared at once. I then heard a drawling voice that was both vague yet familiar. _Her blood . . . we need her blood . . ._ it spat. A silver sharp knife came racing toward me, heading straight for my heart. Fear took over my mind and then everything went black.

I sat up with a start, the immediate light hurting my eyes. I heard faint whispering just off to the right and saw Draco and his friends still there, chatting quietly. Everyone except for Draco looked annoyed.

"Why are we even here?" someone complained.

"I just want to make sure she's okay," replied Draco. "You guys don't have to stay."

"Yeah, but we've been here for hours!" Pansy exclaimed. "It's almost dinnertime and I'm starving."

"I'm not going to leave her alone, guys," said Draco. The Slytherins erupted into snickers.

"Looks like somebody's got a girlfriend," said Crabbe in a sing-song voice. Pansy looked outraged.

Before Draco could embarrass himself even more, I said, "What are you all doing here?"

Draco turned around and his shoulders slumped in relief. His friends made jokes about him, but he came to my side. "Are you feeling okay?"

I rolled my ankle underneath the covers. It felt perfectly normal. "Y—yeah, I'm fine. Why are you still here?"

Draco's cheeks reddened. "Um . . . I — I wasn't sure if the potion Madam Pomfrey gave you was safe, so I stayed to keep watch for her," he lied quickly.

"Oh," I said. "Um, thanks. But I feel okay now. You can leave."

Just then, something Pansy mentioned earlier flew into my brain. _It's almost dinnertime . . ._ my meeting with Dumbledore!

I swept off the covers and climbed out of bed, running toward the door on my new ankle. I couldn't be late, I couldn't . . .

"What are you doing?" asked Draco, looking confused.

"I — uh, have to . . . I'm late for something!" I managed and raced out the door. "Bye!" I called out.

Dumbledore's office, where was it? I recalled back to the books . . . the Gargoyle Corridor! Scrambled through the halls, I came to the staircase and waited for it to move. After a minute or so, the stone gargoyle statue was visible.

"Chocolate Frog!" I nearly shouted at it. It moved aside and I wrenched open the door to the Headmaster's office.

It was a circular room, with whirring trinkets everywhere. The walls were covered with paintings of old headmasters. There was also enormous, claw-footed desk with the Sorting Hat perched on top of it. A waterfall of silver hair moved behind the desk, and Albus Dumbledore turned around at my entrance.

He wore a bright smile and his eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles. "Ah, Jade, welcome. I was beginning to think you were not going to come."

"I'm so sorry, sir," I hurried. "I got hurt and I went to the hospital and I had to take this weird potion that tasted like muffins and I fell asleep but when I woke up I realized I was late."

Dumbledore chuckled. "All is well, my child. Come, have a seat."

I sat down on a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. He folded his hands on the wood. "I invited you to my office, because I wish to talk with you about your arrival here."

"Yes, sir?"

"First of all, it is a wonderful surprise to see that the Tree I had planted was of good use, for I had almost forgotten about it. It was dormant until you came along, you see. However, I would like you to ponder a question for me. How was this able to happen?"

I thought about this. Dumbledore mentioned something about a wish, and the tree being magical, but there seemed to be gaps in the story. How was Dumbledore able to create something that could travel through time, even though time traveling was risky business. Why put the tree out there for anyone to use?

"I — I'm not sure, sir. But does it have something to do with the Time Turner?"

He smiled. "Yes, in fact, it does. I was able to create a form of magic that could travel through time, yet only powered by a wish. A wish, I believe, is one of the strongest kinds of magic. I created the tree to appeal to a specific person. _You._ "

"You knew that I would find it, sir?"

"Well, I knew that someone with a pure heart would find it, and you so happened to fit that requirement. The only person who was able to rouse the tree's magic was someone with a meaningful wish."

"So . . . what was my wish exactly?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I believe you had a desire to _escape._ Become someone who you are not, and live a different life. You were very attached to the literature you were holding, so the tree's magic transported you there."

I thought about this for a moment. "But how was that meaningful, sir? If it was only to benefit me. Now that I think about it, it seems . . . selfish. So how was my wish granted?"

"Because your presence here is also benefiting another student, Jade. I knew that the wish could help others, so I accepted it."

"But — but who? Who am I helping, sir?"

"That is the beauty of mysteries, my dear. You must find out for yourself."

I shook my head. "No, no, sir. I'm sorry. I think you've got the wrong person. I don't help people; I can't help people. I don't know how. I've been made fun of my whole life for something that I can't control, and I thought that spending time with my favorite characters would help. But—"

"You _thought?_ "

I gaped at him. "Well, sir, you didn't actually think I would stay here, did you? I mean, look at me. I've never done magic before, I'm a Muggle at heart . . . I don't belong here, sir. I need to go back."

Dumbledore's smile faded. "Why would you want to do that?"

"I told you, sir. I don't belong here. This is a place made only for fictional characters. I'm from another world. This is not where I'm supposed to be."

"Yet you _cannot_ leave," said the headmaster. "You cannot escape your wish until it has done its job. Do you remember when I said that your wish would only come true if it could help another? Your wish, being here, has not played its part yet. It is still in the process of helping another."

I was silent. Anger boiled inside of me. "How long will that take?"

"As long as required."

I was quiet for a long time. I wished that Dumbledore would stop looking at me. He was intimidating in person. After a while, I asked, "sir?"

"Yes?"

"Because I traveled literally _into_ a book . . . does that mean I have the ability to change the story?"

Dumbledore thought. "You cannot change the past, my child. Only what is to come."

"But what category would _my_ situation fall into? Because I don't want to ruin the story, sir. Knowing me, I'll probably trip over something and get a bunch of people killed."

"I am not even certain that _you_ would have that kind of power."

A smile tugged at my mouth.

"However, I do not think that you can change what is definite, as I already mentioned. You cannot change the past, except when you have a Time Turner, which can get rough. But my branch of time traveling magic does not have that power. It allows you to enter a world of your choice, but it will prevent you from changing what was set in stone. Does that make sense?"

My shoulders slumped in relief. "Yes, it does, sir." I sighed. "So I just . . . have to wait until my presence benefits another person and then I can leave?"

"Yes, but I suggest . . . give Hogwarts a chance. Enjoy yourself. Meet new people. This won't last forever, you know."

I nodded. "Yes, thank you, sir. I — I will."

I exited the office, feeling as if a load was taken off my shoulders. All I had to do was just wait. Wait for my presence to have an impact on someone, whatever that meant. It didn't seem too hard though. And Dumbledore told me to enjoy myself . . . that meant I could play Quidditch, go to Hogsmeade, meet my favorite characters . . .

Dinner was buzzing with electricity as usual. The ceiling was bewitched with a beautiful bluish sunset, casting a cozy glow upon the Hall. I approached the Slytherin table, feeling confident for some reason or another. I spotted Draco and he spotted me. He gestured to come sit across from him. I shrugged. What's the worst that could happen?

I sat across from Draco, since he was the only person besides Dumbledore being civil to me, and loaded my plate with dinner. Draco looked relieved to see me, and asked me how I was feeling. I hadn't even remembered that I'd broken my ankle. I told him it was fine.

At my Muggle schools, any friends I managed to make were boys. I'm not entirely sure why, it was just that they were easier to be around. They weren't so dramatic and confrontational, and overall just enjoyable. I managed to find a couple of kids who weren't very popular and ate lunch with them for the least. They were shy as well, so they weren't the ones to stand up for me when the girls called me fat.

Draco, though, was different in some ways. He was easy to be around, laid back, not uptight. But he wasn't shy either. He was bold, by the way he stood up for me to his friends. It amazed me that the mean, nasty boy described in the Harry Potter books was the person sitting right before me.

He asked me about my parents, and I told him that I was a Muggle born, since it _was_ true. I didn't, however, tell him about where I was _really_ from, since there were a lot of people around. And anyway, I wasn't sure I wanted him to know that about me.

He asked me about how life was living in with Muggles in America. I told him all about computers, technology, the latest books and music, celebrities, and things like that. He seemed fascinated about it all, and I wondered in the back of my mind _why_ he was intrigued. Was he acting? Was he genuinely interested? I kept in mind that this was the guy who called Hermione a Mudblood. Why didn't he call _me_ a Mudblood? Why was he socializing with me at all?

"Have you ever been to Diagon Alley?" he asked, sipping his goblet.

"No, but I've always wanted to go."

"They have a bookstore there called Flourish and Blotts. I think you'd really enjoy it."

I knew everything about the store, but I thanked him for the tip. "You know, in America, we have bookstores too. My favorite is called Barnes and Noble."

"What's it like?" he asked.

I told him everything I could think of. The double floors, the different genres of books, the toys and games and everything. When I stopped talking to drink my pumpkin juice, I realized I sounded extremely nerdy. I was pretty sure no Slytherins liked to go to bookstores during their free time.

I looked for that expression. The one that people assumed when I got nerdy, talking about my favorite books and stuff. I looked hard and deep while we talked.

But it wasn't there.

It confused me. What about Draco allowed him to be genuinely interested in what I had to say? It really bothered me.

So I did the ultimate test. The Jade Joke, as I called it. It was the stupidest, most idiotic joke that I picked up somewhere, which I told to people as a secret friendship test. I tried it on kids at my Muggle school, and most of them just looked at me funny, like I was a nerd. Then I knew that they weren't worth it. If I couldn't be my _whole_ self around them, jokes included, then they weren't worth the time.

So I tried it on Draco.

"Hey, Draco. Wanna hear a joke?" I asked.

He gave me a fake skeptic eyes. "Mmm, all right."

 _All right. Here goes._ "Have you seen the new movie about constipation?"

Draco blinked. "No."

"Duh, cause it hasn't come out yet!"

Okay, internally that one always cracked me up. No matter how sad I was feeling I would just think of it in my head and manage a smile. I'm not sure why it was so funny; maybe it was just the stupid, whimsical-ness of a toilet joke, I wasn't sure.

But it sure worked on Draco.

Boy, if you ever saw Draco Malfoy laugh so hard that pumpkin juice came out of his nose . . . I definitely recommend it. It literally made me smile, and then I thought of the joke in depth and I started laughing too. We were both dying, trying to hold in the laughs, but it was too hard. Honestly, it wasn't even that funny, just something that only Jade would laugh at. But to a Pureblood who had never heard a Muggle joke in his life, I was sure that I probably won Class Clown of the year.

I was keenly aware of the Slytherins in our year staring at us laughing on the floor with confusion and disgust, but at that point I could care less. Draco Malfoy, my favorite character, just laughed at the Jade Joke. That meant that he was worth being friends with.

Oh, what a crazy world.

Draco wiped his eyes. "Never — knew — Muggle jokes could be so — funny," he managed between breaths.

"And you wonder why some wizards have a low opinion of Muggles," I said. "In some situations, I don't blame them."

Draco laughed again. I felt like a million gold galleons.

* * *

That night Draco and I walked into the common room, still laughing while I told more stupid Muggle jokes. But it was late and we had classes tomorrow, so I called it quits and said goodbye to Draco. In the eerie light of the common room, his eyes looked bright, like twinkling stars.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said with a wink.

While I lay in my bed, I knew that I wouldn't be able to fall asleep. I made a friend. I made a friend at Hogwarts, and it was my favorite character. Since when was luck in my favor?

 _Since I made that wish._

Suddenly, I felt glad that I had wished to come here. I mean, I sort of felt that I had been looking negatively at things ever since I got here. But when I felt that flurry of confidence at dinner, I realized that I should have been looking at the bright side. And when I did, I gained a friend.

* * *

Class the next day was tough. And I mean _tough._ I had no idea what I was doing, since I had never held a wand before, let alone practice how to turn a piglet into a tea cozy. I didn't know how to brew a potion to cure Spattergroit, nor was I familiar with the twelve giant wars. I had always been a good student and faithful to my studies, but this seemed almost impossible.

Yet there was that sprinkle of awe I felt each time I filed into a new classroom. I was learning how to do magic. I was learning all the things that I wished I had learned instead of Math and Science and Spanish. Learning what I was now was more interesting than Muggle subjects.

Dumbledore pardoned me from taking an elective, since I needed to catch up on my homework and classwork. So I had one free period to study and practice, write essays and recite the twelve uses for dragon's blood. I did my work out in the courtyard, where the grass was a fresh green, the sky was brilliant, and the air was fresh. It was peaceful, and I was proud to say that for someone who had never done magic in her life, I was actually catching up.

Surprising, I know.

I was able to perform a Cheering Charm on my partner in Charms successfully, brew a decent version of Pepperup (Potions was a little easier since Snape was the Head of House), and Transfigure a rat into a rock. People were beginning to take notice that I was climbing higher and higher in class standards, while the teachers grew more surprised that I was able to catch up so quickly. But I gave credit to J.K. Rowling. She wrote cheat textbooks for me that helped me a lot. During my free period, I would sometimes remove a Harry Potter book I had brought with me in my satchel and skim through it, looking for tips for Charms, mostly just studying what Hermione did.

After a few more weeks of lunchtimes with Draco, passing grades in all my classes, and late night study sessions, I assumed the position of the top achiever in my class. And the Slytherins (cough, Pansy, cough) were outraged. But I enjoyed studying, and I was able to use my knowledge from my Muggle classes to help me with my Wizarding classes, an advantage that no one else had.

My confidence in things at school was rising slowly, and I was even able to befriend a couple of first-year Slytherin girls who were scared of going up the moving staircases.

All that lasted until the Triwizard Tournament.

One night, Dumbledore welcome the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang into the Great Hall for dinner. I knew everything about the Tournament, and it gave me a chills. In Harry's final task, Lord Voldemort would be seen . . .

But in the meantime, I studied as I best could and managed to keep top grades in all my classes. I didn't associate much with the other European students, mainly because I knew most of them.

When the choosing came for the Goblet of Fire, I did not cheer very loudly for all the chosen, because I knew that they would be faced with unbelievable tasks. Instead, I worked on building my friendship with Draco. We studied more together on the weekends, I watched him play Quidditch, and talked with him at meals about anything and everything. But not once did my real backstory come up. And I wouldn't let it.

* * *

As I scribbled notes in Transfiguration, McGonagall stopped the class promptly. Everyone looked up.

"It is time that you all begin preparing for the Yule Ball," she announced. Mostly everyone looked confused, but I lowered my head and scribbled ink onto my parchment. I was secretly . . . _secretly_ hoping that I would get to leave before the Yule Ball. I wasn't one to go to parties, and I wasn't even sure that I could find someone to go with or have something to wear. I didn't really prefer parties anyway. They were too loud and stressful. I preferred to stay in a quiet place, reading or drawing or sleeping, even. But I didn't go to parties. And now I was being forced to go, to be a good model for the visiting students.

Welp, this sucked.

I tuned out most of what McGonagall said, because I knew everything about the Yule Ball. I knew that Harry asked Cho, who declined and went with Cedric. I knew that Ron and Hermione got into a fight that night, and I knew that Dumbledore would dance with Madame Maxime, even though it looked really awkward. I knew many things about the Yule Ball, but I did not want to go to it. Not at all.

The homework that week of the dance was a little lighter than usual. I had more time to read during my free period, which was great. But it was getting very, _very_ annoying, seeing all the girls being asked in halls between classes. I mean, couldn't that be done in a private place so other people didn't have to feel bad?

 _You stupid idiot,_ I scorned myself. _Why are you worried about this?! Lord Voldemort is rising, and you're worried about a stupid ball?_ My mind flew back to Karkaroff showing Snape his Dark Mark tattoo, claiming that it was active. I shuddered. I needed to figure out how to escape this place before Voldemort showed himself. I needed to figure out who I was helping so I could help them and get out of here quicker.

* * *

One night, I got permission from Professor Sinistra to use the telescopes for Astronomy longer, just to catch up. I didn't really need to catch up; I just wanted to see Venus. She would be bright tonight, and I swore to myself back in America that I would see it, even though I didn't have a telescope. I set the date each year, but I never got around to seeing it. But tonight was different.

I pointed my telescope to the sky and adjusted it. There was a yellowish star, brighter than all the rest in the sky. The lens settled on it and I looked through.

I was at a loss for words. It was just so . . . beautiful.

I name constellations and stars until I felt my eyelids drooping. I put the telescopes away, rubbed my eyes, and started down the journey to the dungeons.

It was quiet in the castle. I knew that only Filch would be roaming the halls, but I decided to take my chances. I didn't have a Marauder's Map, but something told me that Filch wouldn't be in the dungeons a whole lot.

I gave the password and opened the door. The common room looked more eerie than usual, and it was empty. I tiptoed across the room, careful not to trip over anything and cause noise.

However, in the glow of the green waters, I glimpsed familiar blonde hair, and traced it to Draco, lying on the couch. His eyes were open, glowing like orbs, with no trace of sleep.

"Draco?" I whispered, approaching the couch.

He looked at me and his eyes widened. He straightened up. "Oh. Hey."

"What are you doing up this late?" I asked. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, um . . . yeah. Everything is fine. Just, um, almost fell asleep."

I blinked. He was clearly lying. But I didn't press. If he wasn't comfortable to tell me, then he shouldn't have to. "Okay, then. Um, goodnight." I stalked off to the door.

But his voice called me back. "Jade?" he asked. I stopped short.

I detected fear in his voice. It shook, like he was nervous. I turned around. "Yeah?"

"Could — could you stay? Just for a little bit."

"Yeah." I blinked, trying to hide my confusion. "Yeah. sure."

I sat next to him on the couch, turning sideways and sitting Indian style. "Everything . . . okay?"

He was silent for a long time. I saw his eyes glisten with tears, but they didn't slip down his cheeks. He held them in, but I could see faint dark circles under his eyes.

Oh no. It was happening.

It was about his father. Lucius Malfoy, a famous Death Eater. His Dark Mark tattoo must have been stirring, and Draco knew. He was confused and frightened, though he had to prove his Malfoy name and not show it.

My stomach dropped. I touched his arm. "Hey," I said gently. "You can tell me anything."

I saw him swallow hard and he looked at me.

Then he told me everything.

And I was right.

Of course. I hadn't paid much attention to the tasks, but I realized that the third task was coming up. The maze. Where the Cup was a Portkey. Voldemort would use Harry's blood to gain a form. It was all going to go down.

So why didn't I tell anyone?

Maybe the question was, why _wouldn't_ I tell anyone?

Because I could be in serious doodoo if I did. Even if I told Dumbledore, he wouldn't believe me. No one would. Word would get around that some crazy girl was spreading rumors about Voldemort being back. The Ministry would hear about it and lock me up in Azkaban. I knew the story. I knew what would happen. And though I vowed to keep my real backstory a secret, I broke the promise.

"He _is_ coming," I said after a while with such seriousness and confidence that Draco turned around.

"Wait, what?"

I nodded. "He is. You - Know - Who. He's coming back. Rising to full power. During the last task of the Tournament, he's going to come."

Draco just stared at me. He stared and stared and stared, to a point where I started to blush. "It's not something to joke about."

"I'm not joking," I said.

"Well you have to be, to make something up like that. He's not coming back. That's just ridiculous. I'm just . . . paranoid. Yeah, that's it. He's not —"

Something touched his shoulder. I held out my book to him. "Here," I said. "Here's my proof. Chapter 31. Page 605. That's where it all goes down."

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking at the book. "What is this?"

I sighed and stayed quiet for a minute before responding. "It's — it's the real reason why I came here," I said.

Draco flipped over the book and saw the front cover. A small gasp came from his mouth. "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire," he read. He looked at me. "What is this, a diary or something?"

I shook my head. "It's the truth. And before you read, this is my truth."

And so I told him. I told him everything from the moment I entered my bedroom crying, to the meeting with Dumbledore in the white room. I told him that I wasn't from this world. I had traveled into a book because of Dumbledore's magic. I told him about J.K. Rowling and about how billions of people had read that series. Everyone knew the story.

I told him about the wish (though not the specifics) and how I would have to leave soon.

Draco was silent for a long time. He stared at the thick volume in his hands with a faraway look in his eyes. Then finally, he looked at me.

"So—" his voice came out like a quiver, "so you're not — real?"

"Might as well not be," I said. "I'm currently part of a world that everyone in _my_ world thinks is fictional. Not sure if that makes me fictional too."

His brown furrowed together. "Do you have any more of these books?"

I pulled out the second, the sixth, and the seventh from my satchel. "These were my favorites."

Draco brushed over each of the covers, seeing Harry on each one. "Fame," Draco mumbled. "Always famous Harry Potter, isn't it?"

I stayed silent.

So did he, before he asked, "What does it say about me in here?"

"You, Draco Malfoy, were probably the most least liked character for five books straight," I began. "It was all from Harry's perspective though, so that became the perspective of the people. But people realized the reason for your actions, and your stance totally changed."

"What do you mean?"

I bit my lip. I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell him that he was going to be forced to be a Death Eater. He was assigned to kill Dumbledore against his will. He was the misunderstood one. The boy that never got a choice.

" _How?"_ he demanded.

"I — I can't . . . the truth, you shouldn't know about it . . . you'd — you'd go insane," Tears welled in my eyes and I sniffled. "I'm sorry. I just . . . can't."

Draco leaned back against the armrest of the couch. He looked at the ceiling and was quiet for the longest time. The silence was deafening almost, and it crossed my mind that I didn't think character meet and greets would be this painful.

"When you read them—" he began, "what — what did you think of . . . _me_?"

A tear splashed onto my knee. "You were my favorite character," I said quietly, looking down. "You were always just . . . misunderstood." More tears splashed. I felt like an idiot.

"I'm sorry; I feel like an idiot," I said quietly, trying to wipe the tears away.

Draco was silent for a moment. Then he put out his arms. I sniffled.

He held me in his arms, stroking my hair. Why was he the one comforting me? I should be comforting _him_ , if he knew . . .

I took a shuddery breath, and I realized how secure I felt in his embrace. I let my muscles relax. I calmed myself down.

"It's okay," he whispered.

But I couldn't say it back. No matter how hard I tried, the words didn't come. Because once Harry and Cedric grasped that Cup and saw Voldemort, Draco's future would be in the hands of evil. He would have no escape. _I_ had an escape. But Draco didn't. And he never would. I shouldn't have told him. It was a stupid choice. Now he would have to deal with the fact that his life would just be spiraling downhill from here.

We stayed like that for a long time. My eyes closed eventually, my heartbeat normal (or as normal as it could be, being that close to Draco Malfoy). When he thought I was sleeping, I heard him murmur, "If you were in a book, you'd be my favorite character."

Though it hurt, I smiled.

* * *

When I awoke the next morning, Draco's arms were around my midsection, holding me tight. The room was a little brighter than normal, and there was a soothing aura to it: Saturday.

"Draco?" I whispered in a small voice.

His arms wrapped tighter, but he made no noise.

"Draco, we have to get up."

His grip loosened a little, and I could feel him breathing deeper, waking up. Finally, he sat up, and so did I. I moved to the other side of the couch and hugged my knees to my chest. Draco was rubbing his eyes. He looked at me.

I cocked my head. "Hey there, Sleeping Beauty."

He looked at me. "Is that a Muggle thing?"

"Yeah, it's — oh, never mind," I said. "Come on, you have to get up."

He nodded, but there were dark circles under his eyes again. I wondered how long he was awake after I had gone to sleep.

"You know, you tend to move a lot in your sleep," he said, standing up.

I thought back to the tightness of his arms around me when I woke up. I blushed.

"It's . . . um, part of my sleep apnea," I said. "You know, that thing I told you about yesterday . . ."

He nodded and assumed a smile. I hoped my cheeks weren't as red as they felt.

* * *

After I got dressed and tried in vain to straighten my hair, I made out to the common grounds. The day was cloudy and a little dreary, which was my favorite type of weather. I sat under a tree and completed what little homework I had. I wasn't sure where Draco was; I assumed he was with his friends. I didn't mind, because I felt that he had spent more time with me than his other friends. I decided to let them be together.

I heard some shouts faraway and looked to the Quidditch pitch. Figures flew high on broomsticks so that I could see them over the stands. Black robes billowing them, I deduced that it wasn't entirely safe to fly in weather like this. It could thunderstorm any minute now, and they'd all be amidst lightning and thunder and rain. They could catch a cold, and then Madam Pomfrey would have her hands full.

I concentrated back to my work and completed the conclusion to the Defense Against the Dark Arts essay on truth serum. I found it ironic, since Professor Moody was really Barty Crouch Jr. under the Imperius Curse. I didn't meddle with it. It was an important contribution to the plotline of the story. They'd find out sooner or later.

When I was finished with my homework, I decided to go another sketch. I found some more paper and my mechanical pencil and decided to draw the sights around me. The clearing, with trees and shade, the Hogwarts turrets peaking to the sky, the pitch just off to the right. I was so engrossed that I didn't notice a figure approach me.

"Um . . . Jade?" asked a familiar voice. I looked up and saw Draco. His blond hair was a little messy, his eyes were bright, but his face looked nervous. What was going on?

"Hey, Draco," I said. He took a seat right next to me, and tried to look casual but it was obvious that there was something on his mind. I looked at him, putting down my sketch. "Everything . . . okay?"

"Y — yeah . . . um, I was just wondering . . ." he began, as if the words were tough to say. "Would — would you like to . . . um . . . it would be great if . . ."

"Yeah . . .?"

He took a deep breath. "Do you want to go to the ball with me?"

Okay, so maybe I had seen it coming. I mean, how could you _not_ see it coming? But the fact that the words actually came out of his mouth was just . . . shocking. I mean, _me?_ At a _ball?_

It occurred to me that Draco's absence was probably filled with him rehearsing his lines to ask me. The thought made me smile.

"I — I would _love_ to go with you, Draco."

I had never seen anyone so relieved. His face and tense shoulders relaxed and he actually began to smile. The color came back to his face and his eyes lit up like the stars. I didn't know asking someone to the ball was such a huge effort.

"Oh . . . oh, that brilliant!" he said in relief.

* * *

And just like that, the Yule Ball came.

I had discovered earlier that my premade trunk also held the perfect dress to the ball: a jade green fit and flare with a black sash. There were also black flats included, in my size. I was bewildered as to how Dumbledore could have known my favorite kind of dress and shoes, but I decided not to question it. At least I had something.

The dress fit just the way I liked it, and to my favorite length, to my knees. I brushed my hair as I best could, then put half of it up and left the rest down. It was the most comfortable, nice hairstyle I could think of. I didn't want to look too fancy, because fancy wasn't really my thing. But I still wanted to show Draco that this meant something to me.

Draco and I agreed to meet just outside the Charms classroom, which was near the Great Hall. I walked nervously to the destination. I spotted Draco leaning against the wall clad in a midnight black suit and forest green tie. His blazer was unbuttoned, revealing a white shirt underneath. He was fidgeting, clearly nervous, and lock of hair drooped down onto his forehead.

"Hi," I said.

His eyes widened at the sight of me, which made me blush. "Wow . . . you look _brilliant._ "

I wanted to have a cute or cool remark to say back to him, but all that was going through my head was _uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh . . ._

The Great Hall was alive and bright. A large table up front was reserved for the champions and their partners, while the regular tables were still set up and everyone was dining. The food was like a royal feast, with turkey and pies and desserts, and any food imaginable. There was a stage in the center of the Hall with a live band playing delicate music.

Once the meal was over, the teachers transformed the hall into a dance floor. Everyone made their way to the center and danced as couples, sliding back and forth gracefully. Draco and I exchanged nervous glances.

"You've never danced before, have you?" I asked. He shook his head.

"What about you?" he asked.

I shook my head too.

"Well . . . we can take a walk or something."

"Okay."

We exited the Great Hall and wandered through the dim lighting of the castle. It was peaceful and quiet and . . . perfect. We talked of whimsical things for a little while, but I had a burning question to ask.

"So . . . how is everything going with your father?" I asked quietly. Draco was quiet for a moment and his face turned grim.

"He's — he's worried. Well, he tries to hide it, but I know he's worried. He can feel the Dark Mark responding, and he swears that it changed from red to green. He's been a wreck, though. If what he thinks is true, my father and mother would be part of the Death Eaters again. And —"

"—you would too," I finished, staring at my feet.

 _You idiot! You imbecile! You weren't supposed to tell him!_

"Wait . . . what?" he looked at me, and his eyes were scarily clear.

I bit my lip. "That's what happened," I said. "In the book. You — you were forced to become a — a—"

Draco turned to me and grasped my shoulders. "But — that's not possible! I — I'm too young! My father would never do that . . ."

I couldn't think of anything to say. I pretty much blew it.

"You don't — you don't have to," I whispered. "You can have a choice, Draco. Be — before it's too late."

His grip on me loosened. But his gaze was horrifying. His grey eyes still pulsed with fear even after my reassurance. What had I done to him?

He turned away and continued walking. "So . . . how has your stay at Hogwarts been?"

I sighed in relief. He changed the subject. "Oh, well . . . it's been inspiring, I'd say." I rambled on about all the wonderful things here that I'd never seen before, and the tension eased a little. Soon we were able to converse like normal, yet I still couldn't rid myself of Draco's expression. He almost looked . . . insane. Like he'd go insane if he became a Death Eater. I shuddered.

"So . . . what's your favorite book?" Draco asked.

"Hmmm, that's a hard one," I thought.

"No surprise there," he muttered.

I punched him in the shoulder, which cracked a grin on his face. I told him all about the Hunger Games and basically made a complete nerd out of myself. And knowing me, clumsy Jade, I tripped over my own feet and almost face planted onto the ground before Draco caught me. Blushing profusely because I don't deal with embarrassment very well, I could feel Draco's strong arm on my back, supporting me, which only made me blush more. He pulled me up.

"Can't have you breaking another ankle, can we?"

I mustered a sheepish grin, and though I was firmly planted on my feet, Draco didn't take him arm from me. He simply just gazed at me with intense grey eyes, making me go red as a tomato. He then whispered, "What would you say if I kissed you right now?"

My stomach turned to butter and for once in my life, I actually came up with a witty comment. "Hmmm, let me think," I said, pretended to ponder the question. Then I looked him dead in the eyes and said, "Well, as long as your father doesn't hear about it."

And so Draco did.

And I don't think it needed any more explanation than that.

* * *

That night, as I lay in bed looking at the ceiling, I decided that it wouldn't be so bad if I stayed here at Hogwarts. My mind was erased of all the concern about the wish and going home, because all I could think of was the feeling of Draco's lips against mine . . . his hand pressing me closer to him . . .

* * *

There was sobbing coming from the abandoned girls' bathroom, as I walked past it during my free period.

My confusion was immediately replaced with dread.

I remembered that scene in the movie.

I opened the door without a second thought. The ghost of Myrtle was the first thing I saw. She was giving words of comfort to someone . . . someone with blonde hair . . . someone with pale skin . . .

"Draco?" I said. Myrtle looked toward me.

"Oopsies, got to go!" she said, and disappeared.

I walked over to him. He was looking at himself in the mirror, an expression of utmost pain on his face. He turned to me, but I was already close to him.

He couldn't say anything. There was eerie sunlight slithering in from the windows that enveloped his suffering self in a hazy glow. He tried to say something, but choked on tears.

"Shhh," I soothed. I touched his face gently wiping his tears away. My fingers brushed over the dark circles under his eyes, worse than they had ever been. He closed his eyes at my touch, but tears still dripped. I knew what was happening. Draco's father had referred him to Lord Voldemort. If he wasn't already a Death Eater, he was going to be one soon.

"Did it happen?" I asked quietly, gazing upon his grieving face.

"No," he choked. "But it will."

"You have a choice, Dr—"

"No! I don't!" he shouted, tears streaming faster. He lowered his voice. "I don't. I don't have a choice."

"You do, Draco," I said pleadingly. He shook his head and looked down.

I touched his face again. "Look at me," I said. He didn't respond. "Draco, _look_ at me," I said firmly. He raised his head. His eyes were webbed with tears and pain, frail and broken. He was crushed. His will taken away.

"You can have a choice, if you really wanted it," I said. "You don't have to do this, Draco."

He shook his head, lip quivering. "You don't understand. I'd be killed." His voice cracked.

I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled my face close to his, our foreheads touching. He closed his eyes. "I believe in you, Draco. This is not you. This doesn't have to be your path. I promise." I closed my eyes, my voice barely a whisper. "Fight, Draco. This is _your_ life."

His sobbing had stopped. I brushed his cheek, clearing away any stray tears before they could draw lines in his face. I felt his shuddery breath in my ear, trying . . . trying so hard.

"What if it doesn't work?" he whispered.

"Then I'll be right there with you."

He breathed once again, and it sounded clearer. Less strained. I felt his chin tilt upward and his lips pressed against mine delicately. I didn't let go. He didn't let go. Everything was quiet and peaceful, as if all the world's problems had simply been washed away.

But then it happened.

Draco's skin felt unnaturally warm underneath my fingers. I looked at my arm, and found that I was glowing a faint blue. I released him.

"No," I whispered.

Draco looked up.

"No, no yet . . ."

But it was time. Draco was the benefit of my presence. We helped each other. The wish was fulfilled. I was going home. Draco's eyes widened in horror.

My skin began to turn transparent, like a ghost. I saw Myrtle peek over the stall door.

"No, you can't leave," he said. He grasped onto me, but his hands passed cleanly through.

"I'm — I'm sorry," I said. "It's my wish. I helped another person here. The wish was fulfilled. I— I can't control it."

I felt dizzy, and everything shifted. It would be only seconds before I would leave this world. Draco's eyes were wet again.

"I believe in you, Draco."

He opened his mouth to speak, outstretching his hand for the girl that he knew he loved—

Only to grab a fistful of air.

I was traveling through the Continuum again. Ink swirled around me, paper fluttered like the wind . . . these things, once comforting to me, were now just symbols of everything I had left behind. I wanted to go back . . . I thought of all the things I had done, sights I had seen . . . but it would not happen.

The wish was granted.

And there was no turning back.

* * *

I landed on crunchy earth forcefully, surrounded by twigs and the smell of pine in the air. Breathing hard, I rose to my feet in one quick motion. I clawed at the tree, pleading to go back, but it was unresponsive. I still had so many questions. Why was I in Slytherin? How was I able to help Draco? Could I go back? Will I ever see him again?

Tears streamed down my face and I slumped against the tree, crying into my hands. I didn't want to forget the place and everything that I saw there . . . but I felt like all of it was slipping from my mind. Like Draco's fingers slipping through thin air. I sobbed harder. I had left him. All alone. What if he needed help? What if he needed moral support? What if he couldn't choose, and was forced into doing evil things?

My gut twisted. I curled up in a ball at the base of the tree.

I should have been more careful with what I wished for.

* * *

 _A/N: This is a time gap of about a month or so_

The walk home from school was one of the most conflicting parts of my day.

Not only was I still in awe about being able to stand up for myself at school and making a few acquaintances because of it, but my mind was throbbing with the only memory I had left from the wish to Hogwarts. See, I believed it was part of Dumbledore's magic. You gradually had to forget about your adventures because as he said, " _It does no good to dwell on dreams forever and forget to live."_ I had the knowledge that I'd _been_ there, yet I couldn't remember anything else about it. How big the castle was, or what my wand core was, or even what house I was in. But there was one memory I could keep. One memory that Dumbledore might have forgotten to remove.

Draco Malfoy.

When it came to him, my mind was as sharp as a knife. I could remember exactly what he looked like, the sound of his voice, the times that we spent together. It nagged at me every day, though I wasn't sure how. I assumed that it had something to do with the wish. Maybe it was the case that you could remember the person that you helped because you made such a big impact on them. I wasn't sure, but I spent almost all of Math class daydreaming about him.

I often wondered how he was doing. Did he join the Death Eaters? Did he stand up for himself? It nagged me that I couldn't know, because no matter how many times I went to the Thinking Tree to wish to see him again, it didn't work. Maybe its magic only worked once. Or once for a particular story. I wasn't sure. But the only thing that helped me was to draw him. I could remember each facial detail, from his intense grey eyes to the shape of his lips.

I drew many of them. Yes, I know it's creepy. But who could blame me? It helped me to not dwell on the fantasy.

* * *

I opened the front door.

"Hey, Mom," I said, making my way to the kitchen. She was chopping vegetables for a soup.

"Hi, honey. How was school?" She kissed me on the forehead.

I told her about my standing up to the kids at school. Her eyes twinkled with pride. "That's wonderful, sweetie," she said. "Keep that up, and you'll have as many friends as you could imagine. Just remember —"

"Confidence," I finished. "I know."

Mom smiled at me. "I'm so proud of you."

Afterwards, I carried my backpack upstairs to start my homework. I had a huge Spanish test the following day, and I recited my part for the _Dialogo_ section under my breath as I walked.

I opened the door. " _Mi pelicula favorita es el Mundo Jurasi_ —"

The door closed with a soft snap. I stood rooted to the spot, trying to deduce if what I was seeing was real.

The figure before me was clad in a black blazer and pants. The figure, clearly a male, was nonchalantly skimming through my Draco sketches. He had pale hands . . . and where had I seen that scruffy blond hair before . . ?

" _Madre de Dios,"_ I muttered, feeling paralyzed.

The figure turned around. I was glad that I was leaning against the door, or else I would have fainted onto the floor.

His grey eyes twinkled in the sunlight. He wore a sheepish smile, and his hands were casually in his pockets.

It took me a while to form his name, but it broke through my trance of shock."D— Draco?" I asked quietly. It felt strange saying his name out loud, since there was no possible chance that he was here.

He cocked his head and a smirk crept across his lips. "Hey there."

I walked over to him, unsure whether he was real. I touched his blazer, his arm, his hair. It all felt solid. He was real. Draco Malfoy was in my bedroom. Before I could stop myself, I flung my arms around him and held on for as long as I could. His strong arms pulled me closer to him. So close that I could feel his heartbeat.

"But — how . . ?" I asked when we pulled away, gazing into his glittering eyes.

With a smile, Draco removed a thick book from his jacket. It was bound in jade green leather, and its pages were lined with gold.

"I made a wish," he said.

He gave the book to me. I turned it over. The title read: _Jade Thompson: A Complete Collection._ I gasped.

There was a book written about . . . _me?_ By whom?

"How— how did you get this?" I asked.

"I've always had it," he said. "As long as I could remember."

I stroked the cover, entranced by what I was seeing.

"Page 568. Chapter twenty four. That's my favorite one."

I opened the book to the page. The very first lines were, " _As Jade walked back to the Slytherin table, she could feel the eyes of everyone on her. Even her favorite character, Draco Malfoy, was staring at her, which only made her blush even more._

Heat rose in my cheeks. It really was a step-by-step of my life. What other things were written in here that Draco read? I began to blush even more.

I flipped to a couple of chapters later, and came across the scene when I saw Draco for the last time. The way he was frightened, shaken, crumbling inside out. I looked up at him, immediately reminded—

"Did — did you do it?"

Draco smiled and nodded. "All thanks to you.

"You gave me something to hope for, Jade. Something that made life worth living. You gave me the courage to fight back against the Death Eaters. You gave me the courage to chase after what I really wanted.

"And that led me here."

I could feel my eyes getting wet, seeing for myself how I was really able to have a positive impact on others.

Feeling fluttery inside, I grabbed Draco by the collar and pulled him into a kiss.

"Glad to see that some things never change," he smirked, before kissing me again.

The dark circles under his eyes were gone, replaced by a healthy glow. His cheeks weren't tearstained anymore. In fact, they looked like they haven't seen a tear in a long time.

As much as I hated it, I pulled away from him, a question burning. "Does this mean that you have to go back soon?"

He nodded yes and closed his eyes. "I can't stay forever, Jade. Surely you know that. But I plan to make this meeting unforgettable."

I stroked his cheek, feeling satisfied by the light in his eyes. "You already have."

He pulled me into a last kiss. And as much as I didn't want him to go, he had to. Because it did no good to dwell on dreams and forget to live. Yet I had made my dream come true, and that was enough to help me remember.

He would be in my dreams, in my head, in the sketches I drew. He would be there every morning and every night, and in times when I needed him the most. We didn't let living in different worlds keep us from remembering each other.

Because one day, one of us would make a wish. One day, we would see each other again. If it was in ten years, twenty, or even in the afterlife.

Because when you have your heart set on a dream, there is nothing that can stand in your way from accomplishing it.


End file.
